occasional oath or a yawn of fatigue. How I wished they would come
out! Women went to the door, peered in cautiously, and beat a hasty
retreat to the tune of reverberated curses. The big guns were busy; even
the ladies must await their pleasure.

Oh, the weariness of that waiting! In my longing for Berna I had worked
myself up into a state that bordered on distraction. It seemed as if a
cloud was in my brain, obsessing me at all times. I felt I must
question this man, though it raised my gorge even to speak of her in his
presence. In that atmosphere of corruption the thought of the girl was
intolerably sweet, as of a ray of sunshine penetrating a noisome
dungeon.

It was in the young morn when the game broke up. The outside air was
clear as washed gold; within it was foul and fetid as a drunkard's
breath. Men with pinched and pallid faces came out and inhaled the
breeze, which was buoyant as champagne. Beneath the perfect blue of the
spring sky the river seemed a shimmer of violet, and the banks dipped
down with the green of chrysoprase.

Already a boy was sweeping up the dirty, nicotine-frescoed sawdust from
the floor. (It was his perquisite, and from the gold he panned out he
ultimately made enough to put him through college.) Then the inner door
opened and Black Jack appeared.

CHAPTER III

He was wan and weary. Around his sombre eyes were chocolate-coloured
hollows. His thick raven hair was disordered. He had lost heavily, and,
bidding a curt good-bye to the others, he strode off. In a moment I had
followed and overtaken him.

"Mr. Locasto."

He turned and gave me a stare from his brooding eyes. They were vacant
as those of a dope-fiend, vacant with fatigue.

"Jack Locasto's my name," he answered carelessly.

I walked alongside him.

"Well, sir," I said, "my name's Meldrum, Athol Meldrum."

"Oh, I don't care what the devil your name is," he broke in petulantly.
"Don't bother me just now. I'm tired."

"So am I," I said, "infernally tired; but it won't hurt you to listen to
my name."

"Well, Mr. Athol Meldrum, good-day."

His voice was cold, his manner galling in its indifference, and a sudden
anger glowed in me.

"Hold on," I said; "just a moment. You can very easily do me an immense
favour. Listen to me."

"Well, what do you want," he demanded roughly; "work?"

"No," I said, "I just want a scrap of information. I came into the
country with some Jews the name of Winklestein. I've lost t